


little devil on my shoulder

by scribacchina



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Supernatural Elements, Vaginal Fingering, description of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 04:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14969375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribacchina/pseuds/scribacchina
Summary: Eve is restless, and Villanelle might just have turned into an actual nightmare.





	little devil on my shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write something for this fandom for a while now. Let's see, if anyone is interested in this, I might continue it. Make it a, yknow, serious story. Who knows.

If Eve closes her eyes, and focuses _real hard_ , she can still feel Villanelle’s blood on her hands.

It's a strange sensation. The pull of the knife, how it sank into Villanelle’s guts with impossible ease. Her strangled cries, _Don't pull it_ , as if there was any way to make it better. Eve barks out a laugh.

She sits in the lone of her new apartment. Couldn't bear to live at hers and Niko’s place any longer; she would like to blame it on his absence, on the scorching pain of losing a husband, a best friend. Not quite.

Behind every corner, in the crack of the walls, hiding behind the curtains. Eve saw Villanelle everywhere, felt her phantom presence, a smothering fog.

So she moves away, sells it off. Buys a new place further into the city, so that the buzz of the cars and the roaring voices of people keeps her awake. Because sleep is the worst part. Eve can't control her dreams - _nightmares_.

But it happens, at times. The human body is such a frail machine, Eve thinks, as Villanelle claws her way up from under Eve's bed. It's not real, Eve tells herself, willing her eyelids closed. They won't budge, eyes fixated on Villanelle's ghoulish grin.

If she's lucky, Villanelle rips her heart out and slams her head into the wall. The ones in which she's brutally gored are a blessing, almost a reassurance. Eve wakes in a cold sweat, jumps in front of the mirror to make sure there aren't any actual wounds - it's exhausting.

It's better than the other dreams.

Villanelle climbs into bed with her, tongue lolling past her lips like a dog’s. Eve feels her trace every inch of skin - she's always naked, in the dreams, naked and vulnerable and so, so scared.

Fingers dance on Eve's navel, down down, swirling around her belly button. Villanelle doesn't talks, but she does giggle: it's a cristaline, high sound, so childish. It rings inside Eve's head long after the paralysis has worn off.

Eve's legs fall open of their own accord, and Villanelle slithers between them like the snake that she is, spires coiling around Eve's thighs. She pushes her fingers into Eve, one after the other. Slowly, slowly, and Eve shouldn't be - cannot be so _wet_.

Villanelle’s mouth burns, hot coals against Eve - kissing her, licking her, eating her. It's not a sexual intercourse, it's a buffet, and Eve is the main course. Somewhere in the dream Eve loses conscience of herself - Villanelle _really is_ there, and she _really is_ fucking her. And it feels _oh so good_.

 

Eve wakes up. Her underwear is _soaked_. She takes a freezing cold bath, stays in until she loses feeling in her toes.

 

###

 

Living seems harder now.

Her days are limited to keeping a low profile, she's under control, guards patrolling her neighbourhood at every hour - others don't notice, but  
Eve does, she's used to seeing them, recognizes the stance, the power they give off.

Wishes she could, holds her knife hidden in the large pocket of her coat and forces herself to believe: _you are just as strong as her, you can do it, you've done it once, you can do it again_.

Empty promises, of course. But it's not like there's anyone left to disappoint, other than herself.

 

###

 

Villanelle speaks for the first time, “Tell me how much you miss me,” she says, from the corner of the bedroom. Eve can just about whimper, limbs locked in an invisible hold. A blink, and Villanelle is in top of her.

“Tell me,” but Eve can't speak, her lips feel lifeless, disattached from her face. Villanelle bites the side of Eve’s neck. It hurts, really hurts, not the distant, satisfying ache of her dream-self being killed. Eve feels Villanelle’s teeth plunging through her skin.

“So much,” she manages to croak, “You insufferable bitch.” Villanelle laps at her, seemingly unfazed by Eve's insult. Wouldn't be the first time.

“You killed me,” Villanelle says, staring Eve right in the eyes. Villanelle’s pretty blue is gone, scleras and pupils all gone black. Eve shakes her head, _no, no I didn't, you ran, you saved yourself_ -

“Fortunately for you,” Villanelle wipes at her mouth. Her teeth shine a bright red, Eve's blood, “They didn't want me down there. So I'm back,” she says it like it's the most normal thing. The most rational, logic thing - and not like the horror movie bullshit it is.

Assassin dies and is kicked out of hell. What a joke. Eve sobs, why must her nightmares be so fucked?

“Aw, don't cry. I came back for you,” Villanelle pushes Eve's legs apart. Eve trembles, feels herself slick already. Pavlov’s dog has nothing on her, honestly.

“I know how to cheer you up,” she grins, thumb pressing against Eve's clit. Eve howls, full body shivers wrecking her bones. It's fast, and potent, and destructive. It's the most intense orgasm of her life, and simultaneously, the worst.

Villanelle sucks on her own pads, humming. “You taste really nice,” she says. Eve watches her shrink back into the shadows, eyes glowing in the dark. Like a mischievous kitten, Eve mutters, _a murder kitten_. Villanelle smiles at her, clearly pleased. The little prick.

“What are you?”

“I swear, I have no fucking idea,” Villanelle climbs onto the ceiling, hair upside down. If she reaches, Eve can almost brush the soft tuts. She itches with the want. She's stopped trying to justify reality and dream, and how they've seemed to mix effortlessly.

“But, I'm rolling with it. It's not so bad!”

Eve huffs, “You're, what, a demon? A vampire? Shouldn't you be the least bit scared?” Villanelle shrugs, dangling upside down. Eve still can't move, too tired, muscles tense and painful.

“Look at the bright side,” Villanelle thumps back onto Eve's bed, snuggles up to her like a child.

“Now we will never, _ever_ be separated.”

Eve should cry. Instead, she closes her eyes, and sleeps the best she's slept in months.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Thanks for reading. If you liked the fic, lemme know! Comments are my one source of validation. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr @myheadsamesssogimmetheslash, if y'all wanna talk.


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